


Heartbreaker

by jouissant



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 05:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3163667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s go back to my hotel,” Chris says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbreaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Medeafic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/gifts).



> For this prompt at the kink meme: "I'd love to read a trainwreck threesome between Chris, Zach and Miles. They fall into it despite knowing what a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea it is."
> 
> ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE.

They’re all so drunk. 

That’s all Zach keeps thinking, as they wheel out of the last bar and into the night. It’s freezing. Chris has his scarf up over his mouth, hat tugged down, and Miles’s hair has snow in it and he’s laughing and it’s two in the morning and they’re all 

so 

drunk

“I don’t want to go home,” Miles says. 

He spins around so he’s walking backwards, heedless of obstacles. Zach quicksteps up next to him and links their arms. Chris comes up on the other side, hands in his pockets. He’s been quiet tonight; Zach feels strange around him, twitchy. 

Miles is talking. 

“Baby,” Miles is saying. “Baaaaby. Where are we going?” 

“Let’s go get food,” Zach says, waving his free hand around for emphasis. It cuts through the thin, cold air and he’s reminded of sticking your hand out the car window, letting it be buffeted by wind. “Let’s go to that place on A with those pancakes. Or fuck, let’s go home and I’ll make us food. We have stuff.” 

“It’s so early though,” Miles says. “Chris,” he says, peering around Zach. There’s a building coming up, masked in scaffolding. Miles is on a collision course with it and Zach is thinking about exactly when he needs to steer him clear because things like timing and depth perception became challenges several hours ago.

_“Chris,”_ Miles says. 

Beside Zach, Chris cruises in silence like a shark. He’s looking at the ground, and eventually Zach scoots Miles out of harm’s way and lets the momentum of the action carry him over far enough to nudge Chris with an elbow. Zach feels a flare of irritation at his reticence. _Fucking talk to him,_ he’d thought way back at dinner, Chris staring into his glass too long, unforthcoming. That feels like a year ago now.

“What do you think, man?” Zach asks finally. “You ready to call it a night?” 

Chris jerks his head up, like he thought he was alone. “Huh?” 

“Chris, come on,” Miles says. “You don’t want to go home yet, do you? Don’t let him drag us home.” 

Chris smiles at that. It’s a little bit of a leer, but Miles doesn’t notice. “You slipping, Quinto?” 

“Oh god, he _is_ ,” Miles says. “He just wants to like, sit on the couch and fucking…organize his books by color or some shit.” 

“That was one time,” Zach says, mock-wounded. “I thought it would look good with all the white.” 

“You should see him,” Miles says. “He’s in love with the new place. You are, you are, you want to marry it—“ He pirouettes away from Zach, slipping his arm free. He’s laughing. Next to Zach Chris is laughing too, but it sounds different.

It’s true, is the thing, but Zach opens his mouth to protest anyway. Miles catches his eye and blows him a kiss. 

“Let’s go back to my hotel,” Chris says. 

There’s something in his tone that makes Zach turn and look. Chris meets his eye. Zach can see the dull twinkle of Christmas lights reflected back at him in miniature, and Chris is still smiling that smile. 

_I don’t think that’s a good idea_. 

The thought forms in Zach’s brain, and he should say it, he’s going to say it, but it would be so much easier if Chris could just hear it like this, let it travel soundlessly in the cold air between them so he doesn’t feel so much like a chaperone. He thinks—for a second, he thinks it might be working, that Chris might get it. 

“Ooh, yeah,” Miles says then. “You’re at the Bowery, right?” 

“Yeah,” Chris says. He’s still watching Zach. “I’ve got a suite.”

***

In the hotel room, Zach tries to hook his phone up to the speakers. Miles bats him away. “No, mine,” he says, crowing triumphantly when Zach gives over, frees up the iPhone dock and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Chris presses a glass into his hands, clinks it with his own. Zach takes a big drink.

“S’good to see you,” Chris mutters, pitched up next to Zach like a huge bird. The two of them are still wearing their coats; Miles’s is slung over a side chair, and bent as he is to fiddle with the music his shirt has ridden up in back. 

“Yeah,” Zach says, looking at the top of Miles’s briefs, the plane of golden skin above them. “You too.” 

The music comes on and Miles rockets up with a cheer, casting himself backwards onto the bed. His head almost makes it to the pillows and his hips end up even with Zach, shirt astray again, long legs dangling. The walk to the hotel seems to have mellowed him, and what he thinks they’re going to do now is a mystery to Zach. 

“Dude,” Chris says from his vantage point over the bed. “Your boyfriend is like…a spider. All gangly.” 

“Hey,” Miles says. His hair is in his face. 

“It’s true though,” Chris says quietly. He takes off his coat and goes around to sit on the other side of the bed, taking up one of Miles’s spindly black-clad arms, waving it around. Miles giggles and lets him. 

“Look at this,” Chris says. “Fucking Christ.” 

He laughs too, gulps his drink and sets it down on the nightstand. He leans over Miles like he’s trying to get a better look at something. The hand not holding Miles’s forearm needs somewhere to alight; it winds up palm down on the flat of Miles’s belly and splays, not un-spiderlike itself.

Zach, somehow, is not surprised. 

Miles squirms. “Mmm,” he says. “Your hand’s so warm.” 

Chris looks up at Zach. There’s a moment, then, when their eyes meet—it’s the moment when alternate universe Zach laughs nervously and sits Miles up, says _You know, babe, I’m really fucking tired._ Here, though, Zach lets it pass; later he will tell himself his mouth was too dry to speak, but it’ll be a lie because he’s just taken another drink. He swallows the heat of it and lets it spread out through his guts. 

“Yeah,” Zach says, throat a little tight from the burn of whiskey. His gaze is still trained on Chris’s face. “Christopher has nice hands.”

Chris looks back down at Miles, at his hand on Miles, like he’s forgotten what hands do. Whatever wheels are turning in his brain, they’ve only carried him as far as a touch, apparently, and Zach hates him a little for not knowing how to get on with it. 

“Remember…remember that time,” Chris says finally, “when you thought you left that fucking hat here, and you made us come back like three separate times to look—“ His thumb has stuttered into motion now, stroking. Zach can see the gooseflesh come up under it. Miles’s breath hitches. 

“—And I thought you were crazy but in the end you were right. We…we found it.” 

Zach shakes his head. Too late, though.

“Where was it?” Miles says from under the curtain of his hair.

Chris looks back up at Zach now, and Zach’s walked into this, he has opened the door to this goddamn suite and waltzed right the fuck into this. 

“Under the bed,” Zach says. “Like… jammed up between the headboard and the wall.” _Take that fucking thing off, Chris said, and he pushed Zach back against the pillows and they were laughing, laughing—_

“You never fucking took it off,” Chris says. He shakes his head. “For like a year, God.” His eyes are too bright; this whole room is too bright, too something. The tips of Chris’s fingers are under Miles’s waistband, and there’s a bulge in Miles’s jeans.

“He’s hot,” Chris says quietly, like Miles isn’t there. 

“Chris—"

“No, he is,” Chris says, that big hand sliding north now, up under Miles’s shirt and then out of it altogether to push his hair back from his face. _To make him look_ , Zach thinks. Oh god, what is happening. 

Miles catches Chris around the wrist as he moves away, pulling Chris’s hand back. He pauses with Chris’s fingers at his lips, sits up slightly and looks at Zach with the air of a child unsure if he’s gone too far, daddy can I please, and Zach is too fucked to do anything but let his own mouth fall open and groan his assent. 

Miles drags his lips over the pads of Chris’s fingers, sucks them in and looks up at Chris, doe-eyed. Zach bites his lip and leans forward on a hand. They’ve done this before, Zach watching Miles with someone else. A friend at a party, two pretty boys. Zach grew into his looks; he wasn’t beautiful at twenty-four. He guesses it’s not something to squander. But he hadn’t liked it much at the party, sitting on a banquette watching them move together. It had made him feel old. He feels old now too, but for different reasons, like the ghosts of his past are materializing all around him. That fucking hat, that fucking summer—this might even be the same room, but what he remembers are long afternoons in bed, watching the light change angles. At night the dimensions seem all wrong. 

Chris eases Miles up against the pillows and cups the back of his head, pulling him in to kiss. They pause and look at Zach, both a little shy, and Zach has the dizzying feeling that he’s splitting time somehow. If he touches, he thinks. If he stops just watching. He tugs off his own coat and drops it over the side of the bed, kicks off his shoes and pulls Miles’s off for good measure, rubs at the arch of one foot as he does so. Miles rolls his ankles and the joints crack. Zach crawls to the head of the bed. 

“Hey,” Chris says. 

Zach still has the wherewithal to cock an eyebrow. “What’s up, Pine.” 

Chris opens his mouth, and Zach’s stomach clenches. No, he thinks, he’s not up for this, not for some eggshell kind of conversation about what is or isn’t okay. He turns away from Chris, some unformed word dying on Chris’s tongue as he does so. Good, Zach thinks. Good. He yanks his sweater off over his head, shirt off after it. 

“Get your shit off,” he says over his shoulder to Chris. Then he shoves his hands up under Miles’s long sleeve, making him writhe a little. Zach’s hands are cold, and when he lays the backs of them over Miles’s nipples he moans and cranes his neck back for Zach to take his turn with. 

“Yeah,” Zach mutters, licking along Miles’s jugular, palming him through his jeans as he does so. “He’s a good kisser, isn’t he, baby. A slutty kisser like you.” 

Miles whines, and Zach gets a handful of hair to keep that neck back with. “Come here and show him again, Chris,” he says imperiously. He can fall into it easily enough, he thinks. After all, it’s what Chris expects, what they all expect. It makes him feel better, if he’s honest. 

Chris hesitates for a second, then complies. He seems quailed now, and Zach can’t help but find that appealing. His mouth on Miles’s neck is almost enough to cure Zach’s queasy split screen vision; it’s pink and obscene as ever, and Zach lets himself smile as he unbuttons Miles’s jeans and works them off over his hips, patting him lightly on the flank so he’ll lift up. Chris has left his briefs on; Zach always has liked to look at a fucking tent in a guy’s shorts. He wonders what else Chris remembers. He dips his hand under the elastic and Chris moans against Miles’s skin, spreading his legs wider. Zach gets him out and yeah, that’ll make anyone smile. 

“Look,” Zach says, running a hand up Miles’s arm. He brings his head up with what seems like difficulty, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Chris sits up too, watching Zach start to jack him slowly. “He’s big, isn’t he,” Zach says to Miles. Miles loves that shit. Chris’s ego does too, Zach’s sure. He’s looking at Zach’s hand on him with concentration. 

“Mm,” Miles hums. “Fuck, yeah, he is.” 

“You want this big dick in you?” 

Miles nods, looking from Zach to Chris and back like he’s getting a present. Chris looks back a little dumbly, like he’s not sure what’s just been offered. 

“Are you up for that?” Zach says to Chris, enunciating obnoxiously. 

“What? Oh, uh.” He reaches out and plays his fingers over Zach’s thigh. He’s the only one with his pants still on. Zach stiffens, and Chris must notice because he retreats a little guiltily, sets his hand down on Miles’s knee. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Of course.” 

Miles grins at him, and after a beat Chris smiles back, a real smile this time, Zach guesses, but one he hasn’t quite seen Chris wear before. 

“Great,” Zach says, clipping his voice like he’s wrapping up a business meeting. He unbuttons his jeans and gets up off the bed, pulling them down and stepping out of them with a practiced grace that’s nothing like how he feels. He takes his briefs off too, holds his dick at the root. He’s mostly hard himself from watching them. 

“If he’s going to fuck your ass,” he says to Miles, “I want your mouth.” 

“Okay,” Miles says. He’s still eyeballing Chris, and Zach shouldn’t give a fuck about that but he does, he does. 

“Baby,” he says, just shy of a snap. 

“Yeah?” Miles looks up dreamily, swallows when he sees Zach means business. God, but they’re alike in this, he and Chris. Borderline scared of it, but it makes them come so fucking hard in the end. 

“Get over here and get my dick wet.” 

“S-sorry.” Miles shoots him an apologetic look and shifts up on all fours, crawling across the bed to Zach. He presses his face to Zach’s crotch, and Zach fists his hair and pushes, rubbing his nose in it like a puppy. Miles mouths along the seam of his groin, down to his balls, licking around expertly. Chris is staring. 

“You have a rubber?” Zach asks Chris, still mercenary like Miles hasn’t just started with the head of his dick, kissing it reverently. Miles is so fucking diligent, and Zach wants Chris to see. 

“In my—" Chris shakes his head. He knows Zach doesn’t care where he stashes his condoms. He gets up and goes into the bathroom; Zach can hear him rustling around in there, and by the time he comes back out Miles has Zach down his throat and Chris hangs in the doorway, boggling. 

“Get with it, Pine,” Zach says. “This is not an unlimited offer.” 

Fuck, it’s not; Miles has a hot mouth and a well-controlled gag reflex, that long neck that can take dick for days. Zach can fuck it like an ass sometimes, usually when Miles is drunk and pliant like he is now. But a perfect deep throat’s not so interesting to Zach, actually; he yanks at Miles’s hair and botches the angle on purpose, makes him shudder and draw back, hacking. 

“Jesus,” Chris says, still at the bathroom door. He’s really hard, and if nothing else Zach is really looking forward to seeing that dick up Miles’s ass, because he’s an aesthete, if he’s anything. Finally, Chris manages to drag himself over to the bed, getting up on his knees behind Miles, trailing fingers over his lower back. 

“Do you need instructions?” 

Chris’s adams apple bobs. He shakes his head. “Fuck, no,” he says unconvincingly. “I don’t.” He squeezes lube onto his fingers and Zach wants to say something extra gross like _don’t break my toys_. Miles’s breathing is still a little broken, though, and it makes Zach feel soft. 

He runs his fingers over Miles’s face, through the drool he can’t keep back, over his lips stretched taut around Zach. He flips the silky mass of Miles’s hair over to bare his ear and leans down. Not far enough; the words aren’t private. But that wasn’t the goal anyway, was it. 

“Choke on it,” Zach says like he’s proposing. “Yeah, I fucking love you, I love your mouth.” 

Miles moans, and it might be the words or it might be the way Chris is working his fingers inside him, looking like he’s about to take a driving test. Zach rolls his hips in a circle and Miles makes a thick, wet noise in the back of his throat. 

“I’m waiting for you, Pine, come _on_ ,” Zach says. 

“Oh god,” Chris says, three fingers inside Miles to the knuckles. “Okay.” 

Chris’s voice is tight like he’s fingering himself. Zach made him once, made him lie back on the bed and go to town while Zach watched. Now he slides them out and wipes them on a discarded t-shirt that could only be his; Chris always has been conscientious like that. He rips the condom open and his hands are shaking; Zach should feel for him, but seriously, fuck Chris. 

_Typical,_ Zach thinks. So typical that Chris would lose it now, leave it for Zach to orchestrate, like a cat who’s dragged in some wretched, half-dead thing for Zach to dispatch. 

Chris gets the condom on and lines himself up. As he pushes in Zach watches his expression, and yeah, all these years later he still runs the risk of shooting just on the strength of Chris’s sex face. Zach lets Miles slide off him to look up with a watery expression, spit and tears on his face, and Zach kneels now and kisses him in earnest even as Chris’s first gentle thrusts push their faces together. 

_“Oh,”_ Miles breathes, grabbing for Zach. 

“Good?” 

Miles nods shakily. “Yeah.” 

“Good. We’re both going to fuck you now,” he says. “Fill you up. Would you like that?” 

Miles glances back at Chris, looks back up at Zach again and keeps nodding, insistent this time, needy. “Fuck, yeah,” he says. “Please.” 

Zach runs his fingers roughly back through his hair. Miles winces as they catch the tangles. “Because you need it, don’t you,” Zach says in a low voice. “You need dick, baby, all the time. It’s a problem you have. I can’t give it to you like you want? Is that it?” There’s a wet slap of skin from the far side of the bed. Zach doesn’t look up but he knows Chris is watching this exchange.

Miles shakes his head vociferously. Zach’s still got him by the hair and it must hurt because his eyes are watering, but he keeps doing it, it’s all part of the game. “No,” he says. “No, Zach, I—" 

“Aw,” Zach says. He kisses Miles on the mouth again. “You’re sweet. But I know you. And I’m altruistic, aren’t I?” 

“Huh?” 

“I give you what you need.” Zach tilts Miles’s face up, smacks him lightly across the face with his dick. “Come get it,” he says, making Miles follow him, mouth open. After a minute, though, Zach holds him steady and stuffs his dick back inside. Miles really does choke this time, coughing, eyes streaming. Zach lets up just long enough for him to draw a shaky breath though his nose, then starts fucking his face messily. He looks up, one hand on Miles’s head. 

Chris is staring at him, face flushed, eyes big and bleary. “You—" He shakes his head, letting it fall forward. His hair is longer, that mess up top Zach’s wanted to touch for who knows how long. Chris rests a hand on the small of Miles’s back, moves it ever so slightly forward, an offering. Zach watches his hand and knows with a certainty he’s felt about few other things that if he touches it—if he touches it, something will happen. 

But Miles gags again, and Zach’s distracted. He moans low in his throat and lets his eyes close, and when he opens them again the hand is back at Chris’s side. 

“How’s it feel?” Zach says breathlessly. He feels himself smile, a facsimile of Chris’s wolfish look from earlier. Or maybe Chris’s was the copy; he doesn’t know anymore.

“Feels fucking good,” Chris says. “Zach— " 

“Tell him, Pine,” Zach says. “Not me.” 

Chris swallows. “You feel so good,” he says to Miles dutifully. His voice drops an octave, that shyness back again now. 

Zach has watched Miles with other people, sure, but he’s never seen Chris. He’s torn between glad to see and wishing the lights were off. Chris is concentrating; he looks studious, and Zach can’t repress a stab of fondness. There’s that alternate Zach who’d never let this happen, so he figures there’s probably another one too, one who would take Chris’s hand and maneuver them so they can kiss. It would all be very touching and amiable, he’s sure. That Zach would be free of the clutching, sticky mass that’s churning in his guts, building as he watches Chris watch Miles with that quiet awe he always gets on his face, like he still can’t quite believe fucking men is something he gets to do. Zach used to think that look was just for him.

He steers Miles’s head to one side and thrusts, makes him gag and back up onto Chris. Zach wants to watch what happens. Chris’s mouth drops open and he moans, and Zach thinks the smile will split his face. He must make a noise, because Chris jerks his head back up and looks at him. 

“You don’t have to hold back. He likes it hard, don’t you?” Miles makes a frenzied movement Zach decides to take as a nod.

Chris makes a pained noise and shakes his head. “I don’t—"

“Fuck him,” Zach says. “Come on. I wanna see. Or—actually, hold on a second.” 

Miles’s mouth is burning hot; his body is drawn up like a bowstring between them, and Zach knows then that what he and Chris are doing now will wreck them. He could stop it, he thinks. But he won’t. No, Zach’s walking a tightrope; he’s tripped along this wire all night, and when he steps out into space in a moment he’ll be far wide of his net. The siren void is calling, and Zach will take the fall out of nothing but morbid and masochistic curiosity. 

He pats Miles’s cheek, backs up and slides his dick out of Miles’s mouth, laughing at the tendril of spit that connects them. Miles smiles up at Zach. Zach was never beautiful at twenty-four but Miles is incandescently so and Zach is, as usual, somewhat thunderstruck. Feeling lucky has taken some getting used to, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it. “I love you,” he says to Miles. Then, louder: “Turn over.” 

“Huh?” Chris says. 

“Turn over on your back,” Zach says to Miles, throwing his voice for Chris’s benefit. “He’s hot, huh? You want to look at him while he fucks you?” 

“Zach,” Chris says. He might sound a little desperate, but he’s still balls-deep in Miles so Zach supposes there are a few mitigating factors. 

Miles grins over his shoulder at Chris blithely, like he can’t imagine anything better. He probably can’t. Chris is bigger than Zach, longer and thicker both, and if Zach liked dick in his ass the way Miles does he’d probably have fucking hearts in his eyes for Chris right now too. 

Chris, for his part, is looking at Zach in a clear attempt at meaningful eye contact. Zach won’t hold his gaze. He and Miles make too pretty a picture, the way Miles slips off of Chris’s dick and turns to face him, wrapping those long arms around Chris’s waist and pulling him close. He’s so hard, and untouched as he’s been, Zach knows he’s getting desperate for it. Zach doesn’t miss the way he rubs himself against Chris. Miles kisses Chris’s mouth, brushes his hair back from his forehead tenderly. 

“Hey,” Miles says again. “Are you going to fuck me some more?” 

Chris looks sidelong at Zach again; if Miles notices he doesn’t let on. Chris nods. “Yeah, if you want,” he says quietly. 

Miles smiles at that, a small and genuine smile that cuts at Zach. Miles isn’t looking at him at all. “I want you to,” Miles says to Chris, and a soft look passes between them. Chris leans in and kisses Miles again. He moves cautiously as he does so, and Zach waits for Chris to look over—the set of his head suggests he might, but he doesn’t in the end. He just presses his lips to Miles’s one more time and pushes him lightly down onto his back against the pillows. 

There’s less fanfare this time around, just Miles’s sigh as Chris sinks back into his body, Chris’s answering grunt. Zach is behind them on the bed now, both their faces hidden to him, and he crouches frozen for a moment before crawling alongside them on the bed. Miles’s hair is wild and pinkish-gold in the lamplight, and Chris is watching his face with an awe that should make Zach feel proud. But as he reclines there, close enough to touch, he finds he doesn’t feel much of anything at all. 

Chris reaches down and runs an encouraging hand up the inside of Miles’s thigh. “C’mon,” he mutters, and in a series of fluid, yogic movements Miles folds in on himself gamely, knees up around his ears, head thrown back. Zach has fucked him this way a hundred times, and his dick twitches sympathetically at the sense memory: Miles open and clasping, his ass just as willing as his mouth. 

“I could fuck you for days,” Zach mutters, fingercombing Miles’s hair out against the white cotton. 

Miles blinks at him like he’s coming awake, seeming faintly surprised. “Hmm?” 

Zach shakes his head. Above them, Chris has set a rhythm, sweat beading up on his face, the skin of his chest a splotchy pink. The angle feels vertiginous, a little like Chris is fucking them both, and it’s so jarring that Zach finds himself scrambling up, leaning in to Chris instead. He could rest his head on Chris’s shoulder if he wanted to, whisper in his ear poisonously. His throat feels tight, though, his tongue thick, and he knows the words won’t come.

Miles is jerking his dick loosely. Chris has him around the ankles now, driving in in a way that would seem vicious if Miles didn’t take it so ecstatically. Zach does move in closer then; it feels like trying to vault on board something moving at speed, a merry-go-round maybe, that same sick spin. The velocity twists Zach’s guts as he fits his cheek against Chris’s slick shoulder and reaches down to displace Miles’s hand. Chris twitches like he wants to throw Zach off, but Zach ignores him and Chris appears to give up the attempt, submitting to Zach’s limpet clasp and redoubling his efforts instead. 

Miles is loud, letting Chris fuck breathy little noises out of him, and Zach’s over this all of a sudden. He nudges Chris and shoves his free hand against his mouth, palm up. “Spit,” he says. 

Chris draws his head back. “What?”

“Spit, come on.” 

Chris shakes his head, lips rubbing against Zach’s fingers. “Fuck no,” he says. 

“What the fuck did you say to me, Pine?” 

Chris doesn’t answer. He just lifts the arm that’s pressed between Zach and his body and elbows Zach as hard as he can. They’re evenly matched sizewise right now; Zach’s probably stronger pound for pound but Chris has surprise on his side and the force sends Zach sprawling, half on and half off of the bed. Miles raises his head but seems too far gone to notice, and Chris lowers himself against him without sparing a Zach a look, licking the center of his palm lewdly and taking Miles’s dick in hand. 

Zach clambers back up to sitting, too dumbfounded to bother with retribution. 

“I’ve got you,” Chris is saying to Miles, his voice low and rough. “There you go. Fuck, you feel good.” 

Miles is watching Chris’s big hand on him, biting his lip. Chris changes his angle and Miles arcs up suddenly, letting his head fall back on the pillows and shooting all over his belly. Zach scrambles to get ahold of himself. He’s still hard, and he lets fly a single sharp _”Fuck!”_ that makes Chris turn and look at him, so that after everything, after all of it, he and Chris come with their eyes locked. Chris’s face is drawn and ugly, but Zach doesn’t flatter himself that he’s any better. Not tonight. 

There’s a moment right after when everything is quiet save the sound of their breathing. Somewhere a clock is ticking, and Zach counts the seconds that he and Chris spend staring at each other. Miles has remained supine and mostly still, and when Zach finally tears his eyes away from Chris’s face he finds Miles’s are closed, his face a picture of calm that feels completely foreign. 

“You’re kidding me,” Chris says. “He passed out?” 

Zach gets up, looking down at himself with distaste. There’s come on the comforter, on his thighs. It feels divorced from sex, just a mess to be dealt with. “He’s wasted and fucked out, what do you expect.” 

Chris opens his mouth to say something, but Zach’s around the bed and into the bathroom before he can form the words, whatever they are. Zach flicks the light on and avoids the figure looming up in the mirror. He grabs a towel and cleans himself off mechanically. His skin crawls, a maddening and greasy itch, and he badly wants to shower. He’s thinking about it when the light goes off in the bedroom. Zach whirls to look toward the dark with a horror-movie thrill and gets a split-second flash of Chris in the doorway before he hits the lights in the bathroom too. Zach blinks frantically, trying to get his eyes to adjust so he can fucking see. He blunders forward and smacks right into Chris; he’s put his shirt and boxers back on, and Zach feels acutely aware of his own nakedness. 

“Move,” Zach says, trying to shove past Chris into the bedroom. Chris blocks him neatly, though, backing him up against the counter. 

“No,” Chris says softly. His hands are on Zach’s hips now. Zach imagines he can feel his fingerprints searing into the skin there, ten little tattoos. He wants his hands on Chris too, he decides; he gets them up between their bodies and grabs at Chris’s collar. Chris tightens his grip on Zach and the restraint trips something in him, makes him struggle wildly and try to push Chris away, but Chris holds him fast.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zach spits.

“ _Me?_ You wanna tell me what the fuck that was back there?” Chris yanks him closer so their bodies are flush. He’s got a leg shoved between both of Zach’s and Zach just came but he swears he feels his dick pulse anyway. 

Chris sputters. “You made me—you made me—"

“You poor fucking baby,” Zach says. “What did you think, Pine? You thought you were gonna get me up here and get me to fuck you? You thought we were going to have some emotional fucking reunion in front of him?”

Chris just whines in response. Zach grinds their foreheads together, bone on bone til it hurts. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you thought,” he says. “You can’t lie for shit. So you’ll drag your wounded ass back to L.A and tell everyone all about how twisted I am, how I made you fill my boy up with that big dick of yours while I watched.”

“Stop it, just fucking stop for a second, will you?” 

“Go right ahead and feel sorry for yourself. Our friends’ll let you, and you’ll almost believe you’re entitled. But you’ll know. You’ll know—“

“Zach, I didn’t—"

“You’ll know you _fucking_ started it.” 

He bites the words off, spittle wetting both their cheeks, close as they are. Zach yanks Chris’s collar down, hears a nauseating rip and feels hot skin under his fingers. Words aren’t sharp enough, and God, he wants to make Chris bleed. All that skin, his nails and teeth. He doesn’t much care how. Zach claws at Chris’s collarbone and Chris gasps, reels into the touch instead of away. He breathes against Zach’s mouth and it’s too soft, it’s not what Zach wants at all. 

“What are you doing?” Zach asks. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. 

Chris just breathes, too soft, too close. This isn’t what Zach wants. He lets out a sob; it’s years old, welling up from someplace deep inside him. It carries him forward and they’re so close already. He kisses Chris and it’s not what he wants, it’s not what he wants, but it’s sweet and all wrong and he can’t make himself stop. 

Chris kisses him back, probably because this is what he wanted all along, something to take away with him and hoard, irrefutable evidence of the rottenness at Zach’s heart. But Chris’s face is wet, and there’s no triumph here, no victory. There’s only a quietude, an elegiac wonder as the two of them mourn together in the dark. 

Zach’s starting to get hard again; as soon as he notices Chris does too, looking down between their bodies and taking a step back. He scrubs a hand over his face and holds his hand up, breathing heavily. 

“It’s after five,” he says finally. “I’m…I’m going to finish getting dressed and take a walk, get a cup of coffee.” 

Zach shakes his head. “We can go,” he says.

“No,” Chris says. “You should stay. Shower if you want. Let him sleep, take as long as you need.” He glances back toward the bedroom. “Tell him I had an early meeting,” he says. “Tell him I said goodbye.” 

Zach nods numbly. “Look, Chris—"

Chris turns away to smack the light back on. He pauses in the doorway, and when he turns back he doesn’t quite look Zach in the eye.

“That guy with the hat,” Chris whispers. “Tell him I said goodbye too.”


End file.
